Chapter 037: Calamity (4)
"Guess it’s about time for a proper reintroduction. The name’s Yeats. I’m the escort knight serving Lord Callence, the eldest son."
Yeats and I stepped out, leaving the chaotic banquet hall behind.
As we walked down the corridor, he chattered away, his voice so lively it was as if the bizarre incident earlier was nothing more than a minor hiccup.
"Lord Callence, you say…"
I nearly blurted out, Adeline’s brother? Better not mention names.
"Yeaaah— the first son of the Conwell family. The one who’ll rise to be the next Duke of Conwell."
"…"
"Come on, lighten up that face! Everything turned out fine, didn’t it? I’ll just report to the young lord that some arrogant knight from Ludglen got a thrashing from me. That’s all there is to it. You’re completely in the clear, Sir Bihen. As long as I keep my mouth shut, that is."
"If you’re planning to hold this over me later, say it now. I don’t do lingering grudges."
"Ehe, what do you take me for?"
"A Sword Master serving the young lord helps a complete stranger for no reason? And puts up with insulting remarks to boot? It’d be weirder not to be suspicious."
"Hmm. When you put it like that, I guess you’re right."
"I need to know where this is going."
Yeats and I stopped almost simultaneously.
We were about halfway down the corridor, with the mansion’s front door in sight.
"Hmm, the atmosphere’s not exactly ideal for a serious talk, but if you insist."
Yeats leaned against the wall, half-sitting.
His hands couldn’t stay still—crossing his arms, propping his chin, touching his cheek.
The guy was a restless mess.
"Hah, I wanted to say this with some flair, but I guess I’m no good with words. Fine, I’ll cut to the chase. Our young lord is looking for talent."
"Talent?"
"Yep. I don’t know how much you know about the Conwell situation, but the higher-ups are sitting on a volcano about to erupt. Soon, there’ll be a civil war… no, scratch that, a massive purge."
Is he talking about Adeline? Her position as the youngest lady must be so weak that even the term civil war feels generous.
"But there’s a problem. They’ve got a Sword Master on their side, an old geezer who’s no joke. Ever heard of him? Eugene."
"…Something like that."
"I see. Anyway, our young lord’s got three masters—two Sword Masters, including me, and one Spear Master. But, well…"
He wiggled his folded fingers, then clicked his tongue in frustration.
"He’s uneasy. Our young lord, I mean. He thinks even the three of us together might not be enough to handle that old fossil."
"So you caused all this commotion to recruit me?"
"You’re worth it. The young lord doesn’t care about status or lineage when it comes to talent. It’s all about skill. Bihen Benkou, you’d be treated like imperialty."
Then he mumbled to himself, all excited.
Something about his own status rising, about us helping the young lord achieve greatness together, passing down wealth and glory for generations…
"Enough."
"…Huh?"
"Not interested. Got it? Let’s get out of here."
"Kukuku. Well, think it over slowly. But don’t take too long. Opportunities like this don’t come often, you know?"
I’ve never met Lord Callence, but I can roughly gauge his influence.
Speaking of which, there might be an unexpected twist in their succession struggle.
Maybe Adeline’s got some hidden flaw I don’t know about, or perhaps the young lord’s actually a born saint.
Doesn’t matter.
I know Zephyros’ hypocrisy.
I’ve seen the tyranny of countless knights firsthand.
Innocent people are slowly withering away in a world rife with injustice, with no hope of salvation.
That’s enough for me.
I’m not a politician. I’m a swordsman who follows the code of chivalry.
* * *
Outside, a dozen or so armed soldiers had gathered around the mansion’s entrance.
They all bowed sharply to Yeats, their presence undeniably formidable.
Zephyros couldn’t hold a candle to them.
"I’ll escort you to the outskirts of Ludglen. Just in case Fred’s flies come buzzing around."
"Pretty generous of you."
"Generous? What’s more important than a connection?"
As we crossed the village square, eyes followed us.
When we reached the village entrance—off-limits to Imperials, open only to Kingdom folk—I froze.
"Whoa, are those Imperials? Haha, you had this all planned out, didn’t you? Impressive nerve, I’ll give you that, keke."
Just as Yeats said, the people from Firefield Village were gathered in a chaotic crowd and standing out among them…
Why is she here…
Adeline.
Her veil was off.
She was arguing with the guards, taking charge like a leader.
Joel and Janson flanked her, standing firm.
"Hold on a sec."
Yeats shaded his eyes with his hand, peering ahead.
My eyes flicked toward him, practically creaking with tension.
"…"
Yeats slowly pulled his head back.
The smirk was gone from his face.
"Why is she…"
He glanced back and forth between me and Adeline, muttering under his breath.
"Here?"
"Dunno."
"No way…"
Winter was still far off, but the breeze brushing my skin felt cold.
We turned our heads at the same time, locking eyes.
Close. Close enough to hear his breathing.
His half-masked face crumpled into a scowl.
No surprise there—how absurd this must seem to him.
Imagining his shock, I couldn’t help but smirk. Thrilling.
Yeats muttered.
"Working together?"
My hand was already on my sword hilt.
"Good timing."
That filthy mouth of yours—I’ve been itching to tear it apart.
I don’t like to boast, but my sword strike surged like a torrent.
Ka—ang—!
A sound like the explosions from the wars of my past life hammered my eardrums.
"Hah, haha. This is insane."
"…"
It was a lightning-fast surprise attack at point-blank range.
A true Sword Master, huh?
My blade, aimed to slice his neck horizontally, was blocked by the sword he drew in an instant.
His blade was barely half an inch out of its scabbard, held vertically.
Our crossed blades reflected his face from multiple angles.
"Bihen, Benkou…! Hah, you tricked me?"
His voice trembled, unstable, just like the clattering of our locked blades.
"Tricked? Think of it as your death coming a bit early. You were always going to die by my hand."
"You, you, insolent—!"
Thud—!
I kicked him back and swung my sword in a wide arc.
The sensation of cutting something was unmistakable.
"Aaaargh!"
Ignoring his scream, I focused ahead.
All eyes were on us now.
Yeats’ escorts were positioned—four in front between me and Adeline’s group, four on each side, and two at the rear.
Before they can form ranks.
I gripped the hilt with both hands, aligning the sword parallel to my body.
I stood at an angle, relaxing my entire frame.
Like finding calm in the midst of chaos.
I’d achieved it.
After my duel with the Crimson Flame Leader, consistent training in my heart technique had given me confidence.
"You idiots! What are you waiting for? Attack together!"
Yeats’ shout rang in my ears.
Benkou Swordsmanship, Third Stage.
Phantom, Projection.
I envisioned the next sword form.
Swiiiish—!
A violet phantom detached from my body, streaking forward with ferocious speed, like a bolt of light.
Two of Yeats’ escorts in its path collapsed, blood spraying.
Shift.
My vision wavered, like sinking into water. It felt akin to slipping into the unconscious.
The sensation of my physical body faded.
Just for a moment.
"Bihen…!"
Adeline’s cry sounded close.
The air felt softer, warmer.
"Lord!"
"Bihen! You’re safe!"
Mateo and Janson’s voices came from behind.
The position shift with my projected phantom—success.
No time to bask in it.
Yeats shoved his escorts aside and charged.
We faced each other, each with our groups at our backs.
"Hah, haha…! I still don’t get what’s going on here."
Bloodstains stood out starkly around his jaw, the only part of his face visible.
He was clutching his hand tightly—seems I’d cut his fingers earlier.
I raised one corner of my mouth, mirroring him.
"Aimed for your wrist. Lucky you, Yeats."
"I just don’t understand. Why? I showed you kindness."
"Yeats?"
It was Adeline. She’d stepped up beside me, her voice catching as if she’d swallowed hard.
"Haha! Long time no see, my lady! Never dreamed I’d run into you here!"
"Why are you here…"
"That’s my line!"
He blew at his bangs, as if trying to cool off, but his eyes stayed hidden.
A peculiar guy in every way.
"Well, this works out. You crossed the line first, my lady. Stirring up trouble in the young lord’s domain, causing chaos among the serfs. And teaming up with an Imperial to boot! Your meddling’s gone too far."
"…"
"How long did you think you could scurry around like a squirrel? Looks like you’re finally cornered, huh? Hehehe!"
Without any orders, Yeats’ escorts spread out into a wide formation.
That wasn’t all.
Fred’s remaining forces, who’d been blocking the Firefield villagers, now seemed to grasp the situation and joined in.
We were completely surrounded.
"Janson, Joel. Cover the flanks."
I kept my eyes on Yeats, speaking quietly.
They understood, their presence quickly shifting to either side.
"Why didn’t you listen to me, my lady?"
I couldn’t hold it in. Spat it out. Pathetic of me.
"You’re the one who walked away without hearing me out."
"And look where that got us."
"You’ve got a childish side, don’t you? Still blaming others in a situation like this."
In the midst of it all, I was thrown off. A puff of air escaped my lips.
I glanced at her.
Adeline had pushed back her hood entirely, her calm gaze fixed on Yeats.
"He’s always been dying to tear me apart. Guess this is fate."
"Not the time to be relaxed."
"He won’t kill me. I’m worth more alive. Prioritize the safety of the other Imperials."
Kiiing!
A sharp metallic sound.
I knew just from the tone—how finely honed that blade was.
Yeats, now fully drawing his sword, examined his hand.
"Phew, almost couldn’t hold a sword."
Lucky for him, I’d seen his ability beforehand.
I tracked him with my eyes alone.
Especially his fingers.
I’d aimed to sever his wrist to prepare for this, but too bad.
"Whatever scheme you two cooked up, we’ll figure it out later."
"…"
"But my lost fingers? They need repayment."
Yeats reversed his grip on the sword.
A sinister green glow flickered from the blade’s tip, pointed at the ground.
A fleeting moment.
Now…!
The skin around my left eye burned as if it might burst.
Ghost Eye had activated.
Whoosh—!
I spun my sword half a turn, gripping it the same way as Yeats, and we struck the ground simultaneously, as if performing the same technique.
Kwa—gak!
It was near precognition.
The sensation of a blank mental canvas, a swordsmanship system, suddenly filling in with intricate detail.
It was like this with Snowflower Sword too.
"Hah—! Bihen Benkou! You got lucky last time! Think your fluke will work again?"
"We’ll see."
Will and desire, crystallized within, form intent.
This intent is a transcendent concept, bypassing cause and effect.
And the heaven-sent miracle of my lifetime—regression.
"Hah! Then try blocking this!"
Dudududududu—!
It’s coming.
The attack comes from underground, and each strike isn’t solid.
I can deflect it.
If it’s just me.
But Yeats isn’t targeting only me.
It’s not just a hunch.
The ground he stomped on—the vibrations echoing from deep below.
Their numbers are far greater than before.
He’s aiming for the Imperials. And he’s not even hiding it.
If I deflect, they die.
Not me—the Imperials.
If I don’t, I can survive. Just me.
I let my sword hang loose.
Closed my eyes, straightened my back.
Yeats is goading me with blatant killing intent.
Choose the better outcome. Abandon the rest. Accept your limits.
He’s right.
People should know their place, know when to give up.
‘Dragon in the Fog’ Bihen survived that way. Until the war’s end.
I drove the sword’s tip into the ground.
"Bullshit."
I lost everything.
Family, comrades, those I swore to protect.
And yet, the heavens gave this fool a second chance.
They opened the gate of life and granted Ghost Eye to see it.
But the world isn’t fair. Not everyone gets a chance.
"How could anyone… harm their own people with their own hands…!"
There’s someone who was dragged across vast distances, fighting to protect their family.
There are those who, swallowing tears of blood, give their bodies to men, waiting for tomorrow.
I know how desperate their struggles are.
Time slows to a crawl.
In a world where minutes and seconds splinter into moments, my sharply honed intent flows down the blade.
Deep.
Deeper.
"No need to worry anymore. I’m here."
Didn’t I boast as much, all high and mighty?
"Alright, Bihen Benkou! I’ll stuff you and mount you!"
So I’ll be their chance.
So they can reach the heavens.
To do that, I’ll overturn the very ground binding us.
If I can’t deflect it, I’ll uproot it all.
If I were to name this intent, that’d be fitting.
"…Quake Earth."
Kugugugugugugu—!!
The ground roared.
From beneath my feet.
A smile spread across my face, fueled by the omnipotence and exhilaration coursing through my fingertips, as I opened my eyes.
"What, what’s…!"
Finally, I saw them.
Yeats’ eyes. A face utterly bewildered.
Kugugugugu!
Beneath the ground between me and Yeats, a fierce battle must be raging.
The mass of malicious, vine-like tendrils surging from his blade’s tip clashed with the massive earthen wall rising from mine.
"Don’t move!"
I shouted, looking back.
Even I couldn’t gauge the aftershocks’ power.
This was the best precaution.
"Everyone, get down!"
Adeline backed me up.
She shouted while clutching Loui in her arms, her voice brimming with clarity amid the chaos.
How long did the tremors last?
Kwajik! Kwajik! Kwajik! Kwajik!
Finally, signs began to appear.
Some vines broke through the surface, resembling the organs of beasts or demonic creatures.
"Kyaahhh!"
"Ugh! What are these things!"
They sprouted sporadically, like stray arrows.
The brown tendrils, writhing grotesquely as if squeezing out their vitality, soon withered and hardened into stone.
Crack crack crack—
The aftermath of the tectonic shift became visible.
The effect of Quake Earth.
Parts of the buried wall peeked through cracks, sending dirt and pebbles scattering in all directions.
Kugugugugugugu—
My vision shook wildly.
It was as if a haze rose from the entire ground.
I barely kept my balance, using my grounded sword as a crutch.
"Ugh!"
Yeats’ men stumbled and fell.
Even Yeats himself was gritting his teeth, struggling just to stay upright.
"Haa."
I let out the breath I’d been holding.
The tremors gradually subsided, then stopped completely.
The area was a wreck.
The once-flat ground was pitted with depressions and raised with mounds.
Spiderweb-like cracks spread across the earth…
It was as if an earthquake and drought had struck at once.
"Bihen! Are you alright?"
Adeline’s voice sounded oddly distant from behind.
I turned around.
My eyes widened.
"Thankfully, no one’s hurt!"
Adeline was speaking, her head tilted downward.
She, and everyone else, was… on a small hill.
Like an island, a refuge crafted just for them.
I had to crane my neck to see them.
Traces of vines that had failed to fully emerge jutted like thorns below the cliff.
"Bihen Benkou. Just… what the hell are you?"
I shifted my gaze back.
Yeats had held his ground.
His fallen men were staggering to their feet, one by one.
"A mage? No way."
First Snowflower Sword, now Quake Earth.
Even without fully grasping Ghost Eye’s powers and intricacies, I’d wrought another miracle.
I curled my lips in self-congratulation.
"Should’ve cut out your tongue instead of your fingers. You need some manners."
"Interesting. I’ll take you alive and have Kuhn dissect you. She’ll love it."
"Not gonna happen. Come on, let’s settle this—life or death."
"Pfft. Naive or just stupid?"
Yeats tilted his head, counting the people above with his fingers.
"While you and I duel, my men will climb up there and slaughter them all. Oh, except Lady Adeline—she’ll be taken alive, of course."
"…"
"Wanna bet? How many Firefield villagers will die while you’re busy with me? I doubt you’ve got the energy to worry about them after that stunt. Not with me as your opponent."
Yeats pointed at the ground beneath him.
"There’s one way. You and Lady Adeline kneel right here. That’ll save everyone’s lives. You’ve done enough, haven’t you, Bihen? I’ll give you that."
I didn’t react. My mind was too busy.
Find a way, Bihen. Find the optimal move.
Then—
"Sir Bihen! Don’t give in! I’ll protect this place with my life!"
"I’m here too, Bihen!"
Joel and Janson.
They were perched at the edge of the isolated island.
"Pffft. What a circus. Hey, Bihen, you agree, right? This weakling sob story stuff—it’s disgustingly cringeworthy."
Kiiing!
The sound of blades being drawn rippled from all directions.
Now I noticed—Fred’s remaining forces were substantial.
Damn…
A scene from my past life flashed through my mind.
The Imperial army, sealing my path with an impenetrable wall of righteousness.
A chill ran down my spine, prickling under my temples and jaw.
…Scared, Bihen? Actually feeling real fear?
No way.
The area was silent, like the calm before a storm.
Thanks to that, I sensed it.
Something unknown was approaching rapidly.
Like a gentle wave from a distant sea transforming into a surging tsunami.
Ku—ung!
Right between me and Yeats.
A meteor, perhaps. It looked like one, trailing a tail of light.
The landing was so forceful it seemed to deliver a final blow to the already-shattered ground.
I couldn’t even fathom where it had leaped from.
"Master!"
Joel’s cry.
A silhouette stood vivid amid the thick dust. Its mere outline exuded presence.
As the dust cleared, the figure emerged.
Sword Master, Eugene.
"From now on."
He glanced at me once, then turned.
His soft, distinctive voice suddenly rang out, chillingly.
"Everyone, show respect."
A human disaster had descended.